Page 82 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Alexandra’s heart hurt for the father who was supposed to protect her. Even though he turned out to be the opposite, she continued to hope that he’d do better with what he had now.
Bittersweet. That was the word that could describe her victory.
Alexandra sat by the drawing room window, watching the afternoon sunlight bathe the garden in a golden glow. Music continued to play in her head. Her penchant for creation had become stronger as of late, for a good reason.
She was finally with the man she had never even dreamed of—Oliver. There was also a secret niggling at her.
A letter rested on her lap, its seal broken. Oliver noticed it as he approached her.
“A letter from your father? What does he have to say for himself?” he asked, looking a little amused.
“He’s, uh, complaining as usual. Adjusting to his simpler life,” she murmured.
“Ah. But you’re still reading his letters, and they are piling up in your drawer. They’re competing with your compositions,” Oliver teased, but his eyes had softened.
Alexandra knew he understood her conflicted feelings about her father.
Oliver joined her on the loveseat, and they both stared gratefully at the beautiful scene before them.
“It’s difficult, yes, but I want to know if there will be progress, eventually. He has no more allies and no place to return to,” she explained, her fingers tracing the leather-bound book on her left.
“He should stay there,” Oliver murmured, even though his expression remained unreadable.
She couldn’t help but turn to him and study his handsome face. She always wanted to drink him in when she was with him.
She reached for his face and rubbed his beard. She loved doing it—it comforted her.
“I know he should stay away from us, leave us in peace. B-But I want him to be better. To feel better.”
“I know,” Oliver whispered. “He never deserved you, though. You rose above him and broke the shackles he used to control you. That’s what matters now.”
Her lips curled into a faint smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Something exciting had been simmering underneath Alexandra’s peaceful façade. However, it was her music that revealed it.
“There’s something strange about you, but I’m still trying to figure it out,” Oliver told her one day, looking at her adoringly as he sat on the ottoman behind her, watching her breathe heavily after playing the pianoforte.
“Do you want me to tell you?” she asked, a sly smirk on her face.
“Ah. Not yet, not unless you want to tell me now. I want to see if I can guess,” he said, placing a challenge. A little game.
“No, I am not ready right now,” she said.
Peace came in waves. Oliver returned to boxing twice, just to see how he would feel about it. But seeing his wife weeping did not give him pleasure—not at all. He stopped even coming near Devil’s Draw. Soon, Alexandra could no longer smell the smoke and gin on him. Instead, he smelled of nature and fresh rain. His long walks always meant he came back after surveying the grounds or speaking with his tenants.
“Do you not miss it?” Alexandra asked once.
“The only thing I miss about it is the fact that I saw you in a different light when you stormed in one night to save your bastard of a father.”
“Ah, shh,” Alexandra murmured.
“So, will you tell me your secret?” he asked.
“We are there, almost,” she said mysteriously.
He raised an eyebrow at her but remained dutifully silent.
One afternoon, Alexandra watched him ride across the fields. Her heart swelled with pride as she drank in his confident posture and fluid movements.
